Comments on: With Obama Reelected, I’m Leaving the Country and This Is Where I’m Goinghttp://www.imao.us/index.php/2012/11/with-obama-reelected-im-leaving-the-country-and-this-is-where-im-going/
Unfair. Unbalanced. Unmedicated.Tue, 03 Mar 2015 20:18:44 +0000hourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=4.1.1By: zzyzxhttp://www.imao.us/index.php/2012/11/with-obama-reelected-im-leaving-the-country-and-this-is-where-im-going/comment-page-1/#comment-355011
Sun, 11 Nov 2012 05:56:52 +0000http://www.imao.us/?p=30784#comment-355011The Democrats should replace Happy Day’s Are Here Again with this song…it’s much more representative of their philosophy.
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Sat, 10 Nov 2012 08:08:09 +0000http://www.imao.us/?p=30784#comment-354636Or, you could go here………..just bring some bacon…….

Big Rock Candy Mountain Lyrics by John Hartford.

One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
And he said, “Boys, I’m not turning
I’m headed for a land that’s far away
Besides the crystal fountains
So come with me, we’ll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
There’s a land that’s fair and bright,
Where the handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
All the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs
The farmers’ trees are full of fruit
And the barns are full of hay
Oh I’m bound to go
Where there ain’t no snow
Where the rain don’t fall
The winds don’t blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
You never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind
There’s a lake of stew
And of whiskey too
You can paddle all around it
In a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
The jails are made of tin.
And you can walk right out again,
As soon as you are in.
There ain’t no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,
I’m bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.